


5 Times Jason Todd Drew Bruce Wayne's Anger

by I_Write_Midnight_Snacks (Pink_and_Purple_Daisies)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Gen, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Good Sibling Jason Todd, I don't know how to tag this ok, It Gets Better, Jason Todd Being a Little Shit, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Misunderstandings, POV Outsider, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Unreliable Narrator, Whump, but it's for a good cause, he fucks up a lot but he's trying, no beta we die like jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Purple_Daisies/pseuds/I_Write_Midnight_Snacks
Summary: And the 1 time his siblings realize why he's been doing it all along, and stage an intervention.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 39
Kudos: 350





	1. Tim

**Author's Note:**

> Three guesses for what's going on, and the first two don't count.
> 
> I'll probably post these one per day until the end, since I'm writing them faster than I'm posting them. Blame everyone on Discord for enabling me lol.

Tim glares sullenly at the leftover coffee in his mug. Everything is going wrong, and now even his beloved coffee is betraying him, he thinks mutinously as another yawn overtakes his best efforts, and he’s forced to admit that he won’t be getting any more work done tonight. Which. Is just great.

Truly.

He can’t even bring himself to spare more than a sigh when a weight settles against the back of the chair. His last burst of effort is better spent trying to retain as much information as he can from the blurry mess on the batcomputer screen-

“That’s a lot of coffee cups you threw away over there, Timbo,” Jason says.

Tim sighs again. He’s reasonable enough to admit defeat, at least, so he finally gives in and lets his eyes shut closed the way they’d been threatening to the last hour. He won’t be getting any more work done either way, with Jason here.

At least Jason’s hand feels nice in his hair, when he rests his head back against the chair, even though it’s not really there to caress him.

“Jesus fuck, Timmers, when was the last time you washed this? Or even just brushed it?”

Tim thinks about that, and comes up blank. “What day is it?”

“Fucking disaster, the whole lot of you, I swear,” Jason mumbles under his breath, which, first off, _Rude_ , before going on, more loudly, with, “Ok, up. Come on, I wanted some intel but you’re clearly useless like this, so at least go to sleep and let me look it up, baby bird.”

“Noo, I can’t,” Tim whines. He might have admitted defeat, privately, to himself, in some small, deranged corner of his mind, but he needs to finish this. But he slept like two hours last night because he took a nap the day before and wasn’t tired last night, and now he’s running on fumes. He drags his heavy eyelids open through sheer force of will, but he can’t make out any more words than he did a minute ago. He curses the nap that threw him out of whack. “I gotta finish. We need the evidence - the videos got wrecked, and now the perps might go free for lack of evidence. Bruce’s gonna be so angry if I don’t find something to pin them.”

Just as his fingers sluggishly find the keyboard to try and get some more work done, the entire desk shifts _away_ and Tim shakes his head. He’s more tired than he thought. He tries again, but it’s still farther than he thought, and the computer is also moving away - _What’s that noise_ -

“Ok kid,” Tim jumps - he forgot about Jason, why is the computer still moving - “I don’t know what you think B’s gonna do, but it won’t matter if you’re in a literal comma.”

The chair suddenly swivels around and - oh, Tim was the one moving, away from the computer. Jason’s hands are still on the back of the chair. “Calm down. He’s not gonna blow a fuse over a small mistake, like that.”

He says it with a pointed roll of his eyes that Tim takes offense at. “You don’ get it!” Uh oh. If he’s at the ‘slurring words’ stage, Jason _definitely_ won’t lay off him. “He’s already mad,” Tim explains anyway, struggling to enunciate. “We had a pop quiz, and I’m failing English lit, so Bruce is mad at me, and now I messed up and because of me we lost ‘mportant evidence, too! ‘S gonna think I can’t handle it, please I have to fix this, Jason, before he-”

He’s cut off by the sound of the batmobile pulling up.

_Oh no._

“Oh no,” he says, out loud, because he’s so fucked, it bears saying. He tries to shoot a look that way, to gauge how mad Bruce is - if he’s ready for it maybe he can divert him a bit or something, but Jason’s body is in the way, and then Jason is looking from Tim to Bruce, and once more, with feeling, _Oh No_.

Jason grins.

“Hey, B!”

There’s no sounds for a second, nothing but Tim’s heartbeat frantically trying to burst something _before_ everything goes to shit. Then, Bruce sighs.

“Jason,” he says, and it’s deep and long-suffering, which seems to be exactly what Jason is aiming for based on the wicked glint in his eyes.

“Don’t sound so happy to see me. I’ll be out of your hair in a jiff - I just need some info.” He pushes Tim’s chair out of the way, and based on the sudden weight distribution, Tim guesses he’s leaning on the back of it. He’s tempted to do the same - with the way it’s inclined now, he could just close his eyes and doze for a minute. It’s almost comfortable.

“Blew up a joint tonight, it was great. Everything went flying,” he explains gleefully. Tim is willing to bet that he’s topping it up with hand gestures, but he’s too tired to turn around and check. “Just, fire everywhere. Nine out of ten on the explosion scale. All my leads burned away though, so I need to start my research from scratch.”

If he were any less tired, Tim would wince in sympathy.

“I thought we talked about this, Jason,” Bruce booms from halfway across the cave. Tim needs to figure out how he projects his voice that way, where it fills the entire cave. There has to be some trick to it, and it’s damn intimidating. “You can’t keep using us to fix your reckless mistakes! I told you that you need to stop being so destructive-”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Look, old man, spare me the lecture. Can I use your computer, or not?”

“No, Jason, we’re not done! You have to start being more careful. I thought you understood this! You can’t just blow up every crime scene! What if somebody got hurt? What happens when someone _does_ get hurt?”

Oh, he’s gearing up for a _lecture_ lecture. He can even hear Jason grumbling something under his breath. Tim is surprised that Jason is still here, really - he doesn’t usually tolerate these lectures for so long. He must really want that intel.

“We’re not just going to keep fixing your mistakes! Do you even understand that you’re only allowed to do this in Gotham because _I_ vouched for you, Jason? Every time you destroy something, it’s on _me_! And if you kill someone next time, then what?”

“I don’t need you to be my babysitter, old man. I’m an adult, in case you forgot! God damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have come!” He sounds angry, but when he moves, Tim’s chair doesn’t jerk forward. It's lifted slowly, instead - the new position isn’t as comfortable, but he doesn’t really feel like moving to adjust himself, so he just burrows down and keeps listening.

“Don’t walk away from me, Jason!”

“You’re not the boss of me, Bruce! Fuck, forget it, I’ll just talk to the East End girls. Fucking hell.”

“Hood!” Bruce snarls, and it echoes in the empty crevices of the cave.

The echoes give way to silence.

Jason’s voice, when he speaks again, is low and even. “I said forget it, Bruce.” He loudly revs his bike, then, and it’s got to be on purpose, because Tim is pretty sure he had its stealth mode on when he got here. Whatever Bruce tries to say next is drowned out by the roar of the bike - the sound which strikes chilling fear in hardened Gotham criminals and echoes the streets in the night.

The silence it leaves behind is even more deafening for it. Tim can’t pick out any sounds. Not a sigh, not footsteps. He’s not sure how long Bruce is left standing in place, and at some point, he must have dozed off, because next thing he knows, he feels rhythmic movement, and the surrounding warmth of strong arms holding him close.

“Hmm. B?” he mumbles, but only manages to crack one eye open, and can’t make out much in the darkness.

“Yes, it’s me, Tim. Go back to sleep, now. You're ok.”

Who is he to refuse?

“Mm‘Kay.”


	2. Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Damian doesn’t understand why Father felt the need to call every single vigilante in Gotham._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to Iselsis, who took a look at this chapter and checked for spelling and characterization. She's the only reason I have any faith in my Damian characterization here, so seriously, all the love for her! I should probably take down the no beta tag, now that I mention it.

Damian doesn’t understand why Father felt the need to call every single vigilante in Gotham. They’re not all entirely useless, he will concede as much, but he and Batman are more than adequate enough to take care of this situation on their own. Richard’s help, he can admit, would be invaluable. But there’s no need to involve anyone else and risk slowing them down.

Of course, Damian has no say in that decision, no matter how foolish he finds it to be. Already, the cave has fallen into utter chaos, bickering and arguing sounding from every corner, and Damian grits his teeth against the urge to lunge for his sword.

“Father, I need to ask once more why you felt like this is the best decision. How are we supposed to achieve any satisfactory results when these are the people we’re supposed to ally ourselves with? Would it not be better to ensure our chances by cutting off the deadweight?” The look he shoots Todd’s way has to make it more than clear enough what he means by that. Regardless of his contempt for Drake, Damian is forced to concede that his specific skill set could be of some use for the situation they’re facing, if he’s going to work in tandem with Oracle, at least.

Todd and Brown, however, are extraneous.

Damian suspects part of the reason they’re keeping everyone close is to ensure they don’t get in the way. He keeps that thought to himself.

“Damian, we’ve already talked about this.”

“Yes, and you haven’t listened,” he says, adding a scoff at the end to make his position clear.

His father only sighs, and Damian bristles at the dismissal he can already see coming. “The decision is already made. Can I count on you to at least follow instructions?”

“Tt. I will endeavor to fulfill my mission satisfactorily.”

Another sigh. Damian feels no remorse.

The planning session goes as well as can be expected - arguments spark up over the most inconsequential of things, they trail off more than they stay on track, and in a surprising turn of events, it’s Drake who makes himself useful by dragging things back into order and making the plan clear.

Damian’s opinion is, as expected, ignored. Clearly, he and father should be more than enough to deal with this problem. It shouldn’t hurt that father doubts his skills, but if he is never trusted to try, he will never be able to truly prove himself, and then - No. Damian will show father that he is more than suitable, and that he doesn’t need other people to make up for Damian’s weakness.

It is not until they are already in position that Damian sees his chance, though. _“Find the trafficking victims and help them escape”_ is his role, as if Damian’s skillset is not wasted on a filler job - surely Father doesn’t think him unsuitable for more important work.

The guards, allegedly, have instructions to kill the victims and flee if a rescue plan is put into motion, to protect the larger operation. Damian thinks the complicated planning is inane. If he incapacitates the guards before they can act, it becomes a moot point, and then he can join the others in the battle where his skills will be better put to use.

Damian can admit, later, to himself, that his confidence breeds complacency.

It’s a foolish mistake, one entirely his own, that he allows the final guard to send out the distress signal - _“Wait for Red Robin to disable their communications”_ Father said before, and perhaps Damian should have heeded that, but it’s too late now. All hell breaks loose. The alarm that rings throughout the building is shrill and bright, an annoyance to the senses, and almost covers the sudden trample of footsteps and gunfire beyond the door.

It almost covers the rage infusing Father’s voice when he calls through the comms. “Robin, _What have you done?_ ”

Assassins do not freeze, but Damian does feel his heart stutter as the foundations he’s tried so hard to build shake with the force of his mistake.

“I…”

“Red Robin, jam the signals, now! Robin, stay in position and wait for further instructions. We need to contain the situation outside,” is the simple directive snapped his way before the comms cut off. Damian is left to hear everything through a closed door and speculate on the situation, from a room full of terrified victims.

Damian is a trained assassin. He knows how to fight. He knows how to work a security system, how to disabilitate any number of grown people, how to incapacitate or kill anyone - but Damian never learned how to deal with people who aren’t targets.

He especially doesn’t know how to comfort shaking victims. He fears that whatever he might say here would only make the situation worse, at this point, and Damian truly cannot afford yet another failure, not at this moment.

So he waits.

The cold fury in his father’s voice is a chill settling in his gut, heavy and forbearing, and Damian tries not to think of what will happen if he is forced to return to his grandfather in shame. He doesn’t want to be with the League again.

In the end, he might have no choice. The mission is finished without his help.

His body feels disconnected from himself when he leads the beleaguered victims through the now empty compound to where the authorities are waiting with blankets and medical help. It feels cold when he swings to the nearby rooftop, waiting for his Father’s judgement.

“Of all the reckless, irresponsible things - Do you realize what could have happened?”

Father is shouting, and Damian has barely even touched the rooftop. He can’t flinch - his training is too well ingrained to allow for such base reactions - but anger like that is never easily appeased, and Damian has no chance but to weather it. Father had been right, after all. Damian _hadn’t_ been good enough, and he stands now a failure after being not only useless, but possibly detrimental to the mission.

“You could have compromised the entire mission, and worse, you put the entire _team_ in danger, Hood!”

...

What?

“I saw a chance and took it, old man, and it worked, so you can fuck right off!”

“You can’t make decisions like that for the team! What if it backfired, and Nightwing got caught in _your_ reckless decision? We went into this as a team for a _reason_ , Hood! If you can’t be trusted to work with the team, then you’re taken off the roster!”

“Oh, shove it up your ass, B. I only came out here to help, but if this is how it’s gonna be, maybe I shouldn’t bother!”

Batman’s silence is stoney. The noises from the emergency response only a few feet down do nothing to cut through the thick tension slowly seeping the air from the space between them.

“Fine,” Hood snaps, after the silence has dragged on into unbearable lengths. When he turns around and grapples away, nobody stops him.

The tension lingers, though, all the way to the cave, where they settle into a normal routine. Despite the derailing of the mission, the injuries sustained are minimal, which is a small blessing. He has not caused one of his own injury in his own foolishness.

Only once everyone is checked over, and Father has gone to change, does Richard turn to Brown with a frown. “Steph, I hate to ask, but do you think…”

“Yeah, sure. I got nothing tomorrow, so I can spare some time. I’ll check on him.”

“What are you two talking about?” Damian demands.

“Don’t worry about it, little D. It’s just… Jason. I saw him take a hit after things went south, and I couldn’t make out how bad it was.”

“Tt. And I suppose you expect Brown to administer any first aid that Todd might need,” he deduces. And, well. Todd might not have been hurt if not for Damian’s reckless decision, so he cannot be faulted this time around. “Very well. Her care should be satisfactory, at least.”

“A glowing recommendation,” Brown says with a snort, but she looks amused enough. Good. She did not take it as an offense.

It’s less good when she takes the chance to ruffle his hair, but Damian has been emphatically informed that stabbing someone is not considered proportionate retaliation for the slight to his honor, so he bears it with only a scowl.

“Don’t worry, baby bat. I’ll take good care of him. Later, guys!” she shoots over her shoulder to a chorus of other greetings. Damian almost misses the thoughtful look on Cain’s face in the ensuing chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Dick

**Author's Note:**

> Chat with me on my [personal Tumblr](https://i-preen-for-oikawa.tumblr.com/), or check out my [writing one](https://i-write-midnight-snacks.tumblr.com/) for occasional snippets and updates!


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